Sweet Dreams or a Beautiful Nightmare
by FrostedHoodies
Summary: Almost fifty years after the events in Return of the Guardians, Pitch runs into Jack Frost.


_He is so beautiful_, Pitch ponders reverently. He swiftly divests Jack of his hoodie, hands immediately sliding his hands over Jack's exposed chest and abdomen. Tendrils of ice blossom from Jack's body as he lies daintily down on the floor of Pitch's lair. His creamy white skin almost glows in the comparative darkness of the room and with his wide blue eyes, pouty pink lips and sculpted cheekbones, the youngest Guardian looks a very pretty picture of innocence. This sweet appearance is countered by Jack's light remark that "when I fantasised about you fucking me under the bed, I have to admit this was not what I had in mind." He gestures to the rickety old bed above Pitch's lair, arching an eyebrow.

"Oh you are so amusing" Pitch deadpans. "I can barely breathe for laughter."

Jack drapes his hand around the nape of Pitch's neck, pulling him down into a cool kiss. The sensation is slightly strange but not at all undesirable. If anything it feels refreshing, the comparative coldness of Jack's lips and skin heightens the pleasure, sending sparks of excitement down Pitch's spine.

An unbidden moan rises from Pitch's throat as Jack ever so slowly draws back, holding Pitch's gaze, his crystal blue eyes daring the Boogeyman to make the next move.

If someone had asked Pitch where he thought he would run into Jack Frost, the answer would not have been in a graveyard. Admittedly if someone had asked Pitch where he thought he would be on this very night, he would not have said the ancient cemetery either. However, ever since the Guardians had banished him, Pitch had preferred to stay out of populated places. He found being invisible incredibly frustrating, feeling all this power bubbling beneath his skin yet having no traction to use it night unbearable. In the past years he had found that the aching burn to scare someone, anyone, lessened slightly if he was not around mortals.

It's the movement that catches his eye first. Initially Pitch thinks that it is just some human, visiting the grave of a long-lost loved one. But then he looks closer and notices the graceful way the figure twirls, the radiance of his skin and the gentle curves of his body. Whoever this person is, they are far too beautiful to be a mere mortal. Pitch sweeps closer, carelessly stepping over several rows of burials and catches sight of the staff that the figure is clutching.

It's been almost fifty years, but Pitch Black would recognise Jack Frost anywhere.

Pitch gratuitously runs his long-fingered hands over Jack's slender torso, smiling as the muscles in Jack's belly twitch at his touch and how his chest rises and falls more rapidly as his arousal grows. With lust-blown pupils, Pitch eases Jack's tight trousers down his shapely thighs, followed by his underwear.

"Do you like this?" Pitch teases. He knows that younger boy wants, needs, craves the touch of another person. Being invisible to the majority of the world takes its toll, even if neither he nor Jack would ever acknowledge this aloud.

Jack nods, biting his lip, chest heaving as he takes deep, shuddering breaths. "Yes, oh God, yes" he gasps, toes curling into the tiles as Pitch surges down, sucking on the sensitive skin of his neck. Jack splays his hands over Pitch's back, holding him close as the Boogeyman nips and sucks at him. Pitch wets his lips, pulling away slightly and Jack positively moans at the loss of contact. Pitch lightly touches the pinky-purple bruise already blooming on Jack's neck, standing out in sharp relief on Jack's creamy skin.

Pitch finds that he likes the thought of leaving a mark on Jack Frost: the Guardian of Fun who prides himself of belonging to no one and being free to do whatever he likes. Pitch smiles at the idea that wherever he goes in the next couple of days, he will carry a reminder of tonight.

That thought is definitely something Pitch will have to contemplate later, because this is supposed to be a one off thing. Tonight is about release, satisfaction, fun, nothing more. So why, when he looks down into Jack's hooded blue eyes and lithe, pretty body, did he find himself feeling a tinge of regret knowing that he will bid Jack farewell later tonight, not knowing when he will see the young man again?

Jack kneels before a tombstone, gently placing his hand at the centre. A beautiful ice design blooms from his fingers, adorning the cold marble stone. The wind rustles his hair but he pays it no notice, too absorbed in his thoughts. Crystalline tears threaten to spill over onto his cheeks, but he blinks them back, restlessly rising to his feet and delicately decorating the grave with fragile ice sculptures and sparkling snow. It's all very pretty and oh, how Pitch longs to create some black sand to crash against the ice, and merge into something beautiful. But he can't. It has been many, many years of no one believing in him and now he can't propel the sand out of his palms. Pity. For a second he allows himself to wallow in this, thinking about how fantastic it would be to be able to create again – if only to see the shock on Jack Frost's face as he was engulfed in black nightmares.

But it's impossible for him now. So instead he clicks his fingers and materialises behind the blonde boy, chest against his back, leaning forward to whisper "Hello, Jack" in his ear.

Cool arms wrap around Pitch's shoulders as Jack presses their lips together in a steamy kiss. Pitch tangles his fingers through the younger man's tousled hair, pulling their bodies closer together, flesh on flesh. Jack smells like the air just after it's been raining and Pitch just wants to bury his face in the younger boy's smooth skin and inhale his sweet, refreshing scent. Jack holds him close against his body, cool hands splayed across his back, legs tangling around his waist.

"What do you want?" Pitch murmurs.

Jack sighs, breath ruffling his hair. "You know what I want."

"I want to hear you ask for it." Pitch's voice is practically a purr as he watches Jack's cheeks flush. The younger boy doesn't respond immediately; he kisses Pitch, flicking his tongue over his lips, eyes remaining open, crystal blue, starred with snowflakes and perfect.

"I want you to fuck me" Jack confesses after a while, eyes wide in the candlelight.

And _that_ is exactly what Pitch wants to hear. He is achingly hard, pre-come dripping down his cock and is overwhelmed with just how badly he wants Jack. He longs to bury himself inside him and watch him squirm and cry out as he comes to pieces. Jack gazes up at him with lust-blown pupils and Pitch gently traces his hand down Jack's belly – already rising and falling rapidly with the intensity of his breathing – and circles it around his cock. Jack throws his head back and positively _whines _at the sensation, hips stuttering of the floor, thrusting further into Pitch's warm palm.

As Pitch expected, Jack is an absolute screamer in bed.

Jack, for his part, recovers his composure almost immediately. Not that Pitch didn't enjoy the momentary shock and confusion that clouded Jack's pretty face at the sight of him.

There is a moment of confused fighting, Jack pelting him with ice and sleet and snow and Pitch deflecting all his attacks. Jack finally calms down, gripping his staff tightly, staring coldly into Pitch's eyes. It's silent in the graveyard, but for the crunch of snow beneath their feet. The two men hold each other's gaze before Jack capitulates.

"Pitch" he says, his voice ringing with self-confidence. He leans against his staff, piercing blue eyes giving the Boogeyman an appraising look. "It's been a while. Couldn't keep away from me though?

Pitch rolls his eyes. "I see that you haven't changed."

Jack laughs, sticking his staff in the snowy ground and leaning upon it. "You wouldn't want me to."

Their clothing lies around them on the floor, Pitch unceremoniously having removed it as he nipped and sucked his way down Jack's lithe body. He revels in the sweet little noises his actions coax from Jack. The younger boy is so responsive to his touches and it is absolutely fascinating to watch the reaction he can pull from the lightest caress or the faintest lick.

He settles between Jack's spread thighs, smiling at how they are trembling from what he knows cannot be the cold. He sucks his finger, coating it in saliva before dipping down to trace circles around Jack's puckered entrance.

"Oh, God" Jack moans, throwing his head back against the floor. Pitch smirks, pressing his face against Jack's groin. The younger boy is shuddering, desperately palming at himself and Pitch loves that, _loves_ that he made cool, composed Jack Frost need to touch himself. He own cock is hot, heavy between his legs and he itches to know what it will feel like to plunge deep and primal inside Jack. He teases Jack's opening a little more before propping himself up, staring down into Jack's eyes, already hooded with lust and desire.

"Lube please" Pitch requests, holding out his hand.

Jack scoffs. "This may come as a shock, but I do not carry _lubricant_ around with me. Will cold water do?"

Pitch shrugs. "It's your ass, Jack."

"So how is Guardianship treating you?" Pitch asks, his voice ever-so-slightly mocking. "Didn't think it would be your thing, if you know what I mean."

Jack smirks. "It's better than I thought it would be. It feels like I have a purpose now, and it's nice to have…friends."

"Oh, how sweet."

The younger man rolls his eyes, but it is with good humour and Pitch finds himself flooded with images of what life might have been like if Jack wasn't so determined to be _believed in_ rather than _feared. _

The way Jack's eyes sparkle make Pitch wonder if the youngest Guardian is picturing the same thing.

It's surprisingly sensual, feeling cool moisture drip from Jack's fingers and into his palm. Jack's body was just so fascinating, and Pitch felt a pang of regret that he didn't have more time to explore it. He gently spreads Jack's thighs further apart, sliding one long finger inside him. Jack lets out a shuddery cry, muscles clenching around Pitch as he squirms restlessly beneath him. As soon as he feels Jack's body relax, Pitch adds two more fingers, stretching him carefully, crooking his fingers, sending Jack into a wanton spasm of "_unh-oh God_." He loves watching the usually-composed Guardian come apart under his touch.

Pitch positions himself at Jack's entrance, slowly easing his way inside. Jack is so tight and the noises he makes are so delicious that it takes all of Pitch's strength not to slam his way in, just to feel _more_ of the snowy-haired youth. He waits until Jack has relaxed slightly before starting to rock his hips back and forth, Jack making these pretty _unh_ noises every time he presses against the special place deep inside him.

Pitch rubs his hand over Jack's cock making him groan and gasp meaningless words out into the darkness. His body hasn't changed temperature but Pitch can feel it thrumming with arousal, every muscle stretched tight. Jack keens beneath him, his face twisted into an image of intense desire and want and his hips rise to meet Pitch's thrusts, pushing the Boogeyman further inside him.

"Feels so good to have - _oh-unh –_ something inside" Jack cries, writhing beneath him. His cheeks blush darker at his words.

"Are you close?" Pitch coos. Jack bites his lip and nods. "Then come for me."

"I wouldn't have expected to see you here, Pitch," Jack says, easily. "Who would have thought you had loved before you became, well, _you_."

Pitch snorts. "I'm here for business, not pleasure. It turns out the cemeteries are rather _inspirational_ when it comes to conjuring up peoples' worst fears."

"Hm."

Pitch allows his eyes to wander to the tombstone that Jack had been so meticulously decorating. "Ahhh" he sighs knowingly. "Is this your sister's?" He pauses as Jack's jaw drops slightly, betraying his shock "Oh yes, Jack, I know about her. I know everything about you. Your fears, desires, weaknesses…"

Jack lets out a bubbling laugh that contrasts sharply with the silence of the night. The smile doesn't reach his eyes though. "You know, for the Boogeyman, you're really not that scary, Pitch. I think all these years of invisibility have caused you to lose your touch."

"Is that so? Do you miss her? Your sister?" Pitch asks sweetly.

Something in Jack's face seems to tighten at his words. He is silent for long enough that Pitch doubts that he is going to answer.

"It's complicated." Jack's brow furrows as he struggles to articulate his confused feelings. "I don't really remember her, exactly. All I recall is what was stored in my teeth. Those memories are all I have left of my sister. But sometimes if I try I can remember a feeling, of being loved, admired, trusted. It's hard to think about my sister. It's like trying to grieve someone you really know nothing about. I just wish I _remembered _more" Jack moans, frustration ringing in his voice. He restlessly twirls his staff, sending a cascade of snowflakes into the air.

"Oh how touching. Let me grab my violin and I'll play mood music for you."

"I'm not interested in your pity" Jack replies, firmly.

"Very well then."

"I am interested in seeing that hideout you have, though. You know, for old times' sake."

"God, even your come is cold" Pitch grumbles, but he's sort of grinning at the thought. Everything about the pretty young man in front of him is just so fascinating.

"Not as cold as your soul" Jack rallies, rolling languidly onto his side, wincing slightly at the discomfort in his lower half.

"Are you saying that you didn't enjoy it?" Pitch asks melodically, lying down next to where Jack has curled up, knees to chest.

Jack lazily rolls his eyes. "No. It was… intense. But it was good. How was it for you?"

Pitch contemplates his answer. Considering he is the Master of Fear, he is interested to note that maybe telling the younger boy the truth is the scariest thing of them all. He is just about to mutter something meaningless, but he notices that Jack's breathing has evened out, rustling his hair with each exhale. Pitch smiles in spite of himself, pressing a light kiss to Jack's forehead before he too succumbs to sleep.


End file.
